


Beginning Again

by Lemniscate35173



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Jack Zimmermann's Overdose, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:06:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24156340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemniscate35173/pseuds/Lemniscate35173
Summary: Jack's overdose and his journey after.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Beginning Again

It starts like this: Jack is 18 years old and tomorrow is the most important day of his life, the culmination of everything that he’s worked for and the next step towards a legacy at the same time. No, it starts like this: Jack is 11 years old and he’s convinced that he’s dying and his brain won’t stop and it’s all just too much. No, it starts like this: Jack is 7 years old and he is stepping on the ice for his first real game of hockey, where they’re actually keeping score and he scores and Maman and Papa smile and he’s happy.

Regardless of where it starts, this is where it ends: with Jack passed out on the bathroom floor, barely breathing. 

Jack is drunk. Not too drunk, not enough to have a noticeable hangover tomorrow, but enough to calm the buzz in the back of his head, ease some of the tension in his shoulders. He left Kenny back at the party in someone else’s room. Kenny might be able to get away with being hungover as fuck when he gets drafted, but not Jack, not Bad Bob’s son, the heir to the Zimmermann legacy. 

And just like that everything is back. He’s still a little fuzzy around the edges, but the buzz, the tension, everything that comes with having Jack Zimmermann’s fucked up brain is all back. Who the hell does he think he’s kidding? He’s not gonna go first tomorrow. He’s not even gonna go second tomorrow. Everyone is going to look right at him and see how screwed up he is and they’re not gonna waste a pick on him. And he and Maman and Papa will be sitting there listening as everyone else’s name is called and Papa’s eyes will get tighter and tighter around the edges and Maman will look at him like she does every time he comes out of an attack, like he’s made of glass and only her pity will keep him from shattering.

The buzzing in his head is getting louder. He keeps picturing himself sitting at the table as Kenny’s name is called and then someone else and then someone else and everyone is looking at him and Maman and Papa are embarrassed and everything is horrible and awful and he’s a failure, a complete and total failure. 

Jack knows what he’s supposed to do in these situations. He’s supposed to take a deep breath and challenge his irrational thoughts and all that crap, but considering that has done jack all in the past, he goes for what he knows will work: the pills. His hands are shaking as he digs through his bag for the bottle and he can feel the beginnings of a panic attack coming on. His heart is beating like a rabbit's in his chest and it’s getting harder and harder to breathe, like there’s a boulder pressing down on him. When Jack finally gets his hands on the bottle, he immediately swallows two pills. He used to be fine with one, and that’s what he’s supposed to take, but now it usually takes three or four to get him through. 

Jack grips the bottle tightly and slowly staggers his way into the bathroom, into the shower, and pulls the shower curtain shut behind him. The bathtub is Jack’s place to go when he gets like this. It’s private and enclosed and safe without being even more suffocating. His breathing is coming in gasps and the buzzing in his head is becoming deafening, so he swallows two more pills and lowers himself to the ground. He’s a failure, he’s awful, he’s going to die alone on the bathroom floor. He’s going to die, he’s going to die, he’s going to die. He reaches up and covers his ears because even the hum of the lights is too much, it’s all just too much. 

Jack knows rationally that it takes about fifteen to thirty minutes for his pills to start working, but it feels like it been way longer than fifteen minutes and he can’t fucking breathe. So he takes two more. He waits what feels like another fifteen minutes, but he’s dying, he’s dying. He’s shaking like a leaf and there are tears streaming down his face because he’s going to die alone. So he takes two more.

And he’s still shaking and dying and gasping for air, so in his desperation, he pours out a handful and swallows them all.

Slowly he begins to come down. The shaking stops, his breaths come easier and the buzz in the back of his head recedes to a normal level. And he realizes what he’s done. He spends some time trying to figure out what to do. For a second he contemplates not doing anything, letting himself pass out on the floor for Kenny to find. Maybe he lives, maybe he doesn’t. And it’s tempting, to lay back and let this become someone else’s problem. But he’s an athlete; his body is his life and the idea of living in a body that won’t respond to his commands is something he doesn’t want to imagine. And it isn’t fair to Kenny.

Jack grabs his phone and dials emergency services. His vision is getting blurry around the edges. The operator is asking him how much he took, and it’s getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open. The woman on the phone is saying something but everything is fuzzy and he just wants to go to sleep. Jack closes his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Am I 100% projecting onto Jack Zimmermann? Yes, yes I am.


End file.
